


Hospital Blues & Silver Belles

by sagiow



Category: GLOW (TV 2017), Mercy Street (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Hospital, the 80s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:07:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28032882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagiow/pseuds/sagiow
Summary: Debbie had not expected a warm welcome the hospital, but this, she had not expected at all.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3
Collections: Mercy Street Crossover Advent Silver and AU





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the Mercy Street Advent Crossover challenge; an alternate take on 2 x 07 "Nothing Shattered" if they had chosen another hospital.

In a shady parking lot, in the back of a beat-up limo, somewhere on the Venn diagram between pain and fear, and inching ever closer to annoyance, Ruth watched her friends argue about which hospital to take her to.

“Valley General’s on San Fernando,” said Cherry decidedly. “It’s the closest.”

“Huh, no,” replied Melanie. “I’m a Jew, and I’m driving, so we’re going to Cedars.”

“Cedars? Are you fucking kidding me? We’ll be in traffic for hours.”

“Hang on,” Rhonda jumped in. “I have a cousin, she’s a nurse, a really good one. She was in the army, and now she works at a hospital nearby. A private one, I think.”

“Private? Can we afford private?” said Carmen.

“Well, _we_ can’t, but surely Bash can? I mean, there were drugs in the fucking robot. If he can have spare drugs in the nerdy hardware, he can afford private hospitals, right?”

“Riiiight,” agreed Carmen, before turning to her injured friend. “Ruth, where do you want to go?”

“I don’t care!” she cried pathetically despite herself, bundled against Sheila’s furs and trying very hard not to think about what animal they were from, and how long it had been since they’d last been washed. “Just get me to a fucking hospital already, it hurts like hell!”

* * *

Under permed bangs and an updo that would have made the ladies on _Dynasty_ green with envy, the ER nurse watched the circus straggle into the hospital, a motley crew of spandex and sparkles, half-expecting Bob Monkhouse to pop up behind them and reveal she’d been on Candid Camera all along. One of them, who would probably look quite fearsome in her Bolshevik Bitch get-up if she weren’t moaning so pitifully and being carried on piggy back by another one who would look even more fearsome if she weren’t dressed like a flower girl from the Andes with a T-shirt made in China, she quickly identified her as her would-be patient. 

“Annie!” came a shout within their midst, and Rhonda pushed through to greet her. 

“Rhonda, darling!” she said, reaching to embrace her cousin. “So glad you rang to warn me; you lot make quite the entrance.”

“I know, we rushed right out of the ring,” Rhonda said, and affected a curtsy. “Fancy my costume?”

Anne inspected her critically, the plaited pigtails and plaid pinafore over the skimpy yellow ruffles that stood for a shirt. “What exactly are you supposed to be? Some British boarding schoolgirl? I swear, American men and their weird, perverted fantasies...”

“No! I am Britannica, the science genius!”

Anne waited, and as Rhonda kept on beaming with what she assumed to be a very serious and genius-y expression, she snorted. “Oh, bollocks.” She shook her head and looked up to the whiny Soviet. “Ruth Wilder, I presume?”

“Ruth, this is my cousin, Anne Hastings, Nurse Practitioner, Lieutenant Colonel of the QARANC, and greatest British export to grace your fine country since WHAM!. You could not be in better hands.”

“Oh, don’t fuss,” she was dismissed with a wave of perfectly manicured, peach-blush tipped fingers. “This is nothing compared to my work in Lebanon. When I was in Beirut-”

“Beirut! No way! That’s her wrestling name!” Dawn giggled, pointing to the cringing Arthie. 

Anne turned to her, taking in the physiognomy that was definitely more Eastern than Middle, and frowned. “But why? You’re not even Lebanese, are you?”

“Thank you,” Arthie sighed. “No, I am not. But thank you.”

Anne nodded, her gaze skimming the pack of wrestlers, and finding so much more to potentially offend so many others, that she could only shrug in disbelief. “Well, I would not expect anyone thinking Rhonda can pass as a science genius to have any basic appreciation of ethnic diversity and social sensitivity.”

"Hey!”

Rhonda’s outrage was interrupted by a loud shout. “Liiiiive from Mansion House Hospital, it’s GLOW! The Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestliiiiiiing!”

From the hallway, a doctor jogged in, pushing a wheelchair, his mulleted hair flapping behind him. “Welcome, welcome!” he greeted them, his pale eyes twinkling above a ginger horseshoe mustache. “Dr. Byron Hale! Huuuuge fan of yours! I Huge fan of all wrestling, truly, but GLOW holds a special place in my heart. I was actually watching the show in the staff room when this happened,” he pouted as he gestured to Ruth’s leg. “Dreadful, absolutely dreadful. But WHAT a show! Such strength! Such drama! Such magical moves! You had me at the edge of my seat! You ladies are making admirable progress, admirable! Every week is a goddamn delight! But enough of my gushing! Miss Machu, please, set down our dear Zoya in this chair, and both be at rest, Nurse Hastings and I can take it from here. Oh, what a tremendous evening! I will kindly need you all to sign my lab coat before you leave. And boy oh boy, would Christmas come early for me if I could take some photos with you...” he peered through the crowd, and froze. “But… is Liberty Belle not with you?”

Surprised, Ruth looked up. “Where is Debbie?”

Her friends all gazed about, and shrugged uncomfortably; both Ruth and the ginger doctor visibly deflated. 

Anne sighed. _That’s quite enough of this rubbish_ , she decided as she assumed command of the wheelchair, briskly whisking Ruth away to her room. “Don’t you fret, Ms. Wilder. You’ll be well taken care of, here at Mansion House.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Debbie, no!”

The snap was brief, a bone-crunching, blood-curdling, dream-shattering sound for the ages. Debbie heard it again and again through the patter of the shower, echoing from the cheap, chipped tiles in the empty room. That pop, and Ruth’s scream afterward, playing on distorted, manic repeat from the dredges of cocaine still coursing through her system. The eyes of their… colleagues -- co-wrestlers? ring mates? was that right? what the fuck ever -- their eyes, wide from watching the match, then wider when realizing this was not a planned part of it, then glaring at her in shock and horror and disgust.

_You broke your friend’s ankle, you fucking psychopath._

At some point, Bash walked in, and she didn’t care. She stepped out of the shower, walking past him, naked and steaming, and still she didn’t care. “They took Ruth to the hospital,” he said, visibly trying to cover his trouble over his visibly insufficient trouble with her hot, nude self, and again, she didn’t care.

“Yeah, sure, of course, good.” Could she deadpan any more positives in there to make it sound sincere? Always. Would it change anything to the fuckfest her life had somehow become? All the good things that were in it systematically destroyed and set on fire and burnt to a pile of pathetic ash. And her standing over it all with a jerry can full of jet fuel.

He rambled on about some other wrestler, some other career-ending injury, and she didn’t care.

“You should go. Go see Ruth.”

And this, the image of Ruth in a shitty hospital bed, probably freaked out of her mind and in horrible pain, and her standing here, holding not only the fuel, but having also struck the match...

About this, she did most guiltily care.

* * *

“This is bad. I know it. My career’s over,” Ruth said, with a mouthful of terribly bland Twizzlers, which she didn’t know whether to attribute to her current stressed-out state or their artificially-prolonged life in a hospital vending machine.

“The fuck you talking about?” Sam said as he destroyed his second bag of Ruffles, his fifth cigarette half-abandoned in the ashtray. “This is just a minor setback. A pause. A time out. You’ve been through worse shit.”

He had joined her in the room, after what she assumed had turned out to be Round Two of the peacock pissing contest between him and Russell, but of which she did not want to consider the implications just yet. One after the next, all her friends had come through with their best attempts at distraction in the weirdest, Valium-and-Klonopin-induced freak show parade she’d ever dreamed of.

All except the one she had most hoped to see.

Her train of thought was interrupted by a double knock at the door. A young doctor, as given away by her impeccable lab coat, the shiny stethoscope around her neck, the clipboard in her hands, the bright light still in her eye despite the more than late hour. “Ms. Wilder, good evening. I’m Dr. Phinney, the attending radiologist. I’ve had a look at your X-rays and I have good news.”

“You do?” Ruth replied, with bated breath.

“Yes! I’ve rarely seen such a nice, clean fracture.”

“Hang on,” said Sam. “Fracture?!”

“Well, yes,” the doctor continued. “The bone just snapped right in two. Such a beautiful break. A+.” She gave them a reassuring smile and a thumbs-up, but only received dismayed stares in return.

“So,” she cleared her throat, “we’ll get you sorted with a cast and crutches… for eight weeks. Ten at the most. All right?”

“Eight to ten weeks?!” Ruth repeated, dumbfounded. “Sam, that’s… that’s the rest of the season.”

“Hey, we’ll figure something out, don’t worry,” he replied, squeezing her shoulder to keep the rising panic at bay.

“Ok, well, Dr. Hale will be by shortly to get started with that. He was quite insistent in setting the cast himself. You’re lucky, he’s our best orthopedic surgeon,” the doctor said with an encouraging smile, before nodding and turning to leave, and stopping dead in her tracks.

In the doorway, Debbie stood, equally frozen. “Oh, you gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Sam and Ruth looked up at the faceoff occurring at the door, the doctor’s brown eyes as round as her opened mouth. “Oh my God… Eliza?!” she finally said.

“ _No!_ No. It’s Debbie now. _Debbie._ Debbie Eagan.”

“Eliza?!” repeated Sam, with a chuckle. “Your real name is Elizabeth? Oh that’s rich.”

“Elizabeth Deborah Cameron, then Foster. I dumped half of them when I came out West after the clusterfuck you caused,” she snarled at Mary, who clutched the clipboard against her chest.

“Listen, Eli- Deb- Ms. Eagan, could we not-”

“What the fuck is going on?” asked Sam, getting visibly impatient.

“Ha, you don’t know?! Well, allow me to acquaint you all. Sam Sylvia, Ruth Wilder, this is Homewrecker One. Mary Phinney, please meet Homewrecker Two. You two should get along splendidly.”

There was an uneasy silence, and Debbie scoffed. “Oh, come on. Seriously. You both have a thing for sleeping with my husbands. Swap pointers. Take notes! There should eventually be a third one for you two to outslut yourselves.”

“OK, this is turning into a soapy acid trip, and definitely not the kind of girl-on-girl threesome action I like in my trips,” Sam said, grabbing his jacket and giving Ruth’s shoulder one last pat as he rose. “I’ll be in the waiting room, I’ll check up on you later.”

Ruth watched him leave as one watches the last ferry to the mainland depart without them on board, leaving her as the third reluctant participant of the Mexican stand-off her hospital stay had somehow devolved into. Well, she’d already gotten her ankle broken; might as well get shot, too. “So, Debbie... you were married before Mark?”

“Yes. My high school sweetheart, if you can believe it. And if you can believe that, well, he was not one semester away in med school that he slept with her.” To her credit, Mary did not flinch nor look away. “How is our dear Jed, by the way? Did he manage to stick around longer with you?”

“He’s fine. We’re fine. He’s at home with our son now, but he’ll be working the day shift tomorrow, if you plan on sticking around longer yourself. Head of Psychiatry,” she added, with the faintest, imperious lift of her head.

“Oh that is wonderful. Nice to know I missed out on being married to the Head of Psychiatry at a first-rate hospital, because of you. But really, sooooo happy for you both.” She began pacing the room angrily. “I was married to a first-rate lawyer, myself. I have a son too, you know. Randy….Such a sweet boy, he’s almost one. And would you know it, I missed out on his first steps because of her,” she said, turning her ire towards Ruth. “So really, you two, together like this… it is something. Is it even real? Does coke make you hallucinate fucked-up shit like this?”

“Coke?! As in cocaine..?” Mary repeated, but Debbie paid her no mind, hands on her hips as she gazed about the room in disbelief.

“I mean, here I am, standing in a hospital room with Whores of Christmases Past and Present. I can only wonder when the one from Christmas Future is gonna come knocking.”

There was a quick rap on the door. “Good evening, Ms. Wilder!” said the young dark-haired nurse, with a dimpled grin and a Southern twang. “Your meal is ready!”.

“Oh niiiiiice,” said Debbie, bringing her hands together in a slow clap, along with an appreciative, if bitter, nod. “Well done, Number 3. Forget it. I get it. I’d cheat on myself with that.”

“Beg your pardon?” said the newcomer, setting the tray down, before Mary bit her lip and shooed her away subtly. Debbie watched her leave before shaking her head, her ponytail flipping about.

“Seriously, though, I don’t get it. Why am I the Ebenezer Scrooge in this story? What have I ever done so very wrong? I mean, I treat people fairly, I put up with more than my fair share of crap. All I ask is for some agency over my goddamn career, and for my husband to love me and keep it in his fucking pants the minute the passably hot brunette next-door walks in. Is that honestly too much to ask?”

She saw both their mouths open and held out her hand. “No! Do NOT answer that! It’s rhetorical, damn you!”

With an aggravated sigh, she smoothed her hair back, and crossed back to the door. “I should go. This was… not part of what I bargained for. With myself. Tonight. So, um, in the spirit of this fucked up proto-Christmas Carol bullshit, Ruth... I’m sorry I broke your ankle. Really. I did not mean to do it, but I am very sorry I did do it. Truly."

"And Mary, I’m sorry I…. actually, no, I got nothing for you. Fuck you.”

With that, she stormed out of the room…. and right into an incoming cart, half-tumbling it over, the medical materials flying to the floor.

“Fuck me!” she cried in pain. “Watch where you’re going, jackass!”

“Same to you, Blondie!” the doctor snapped back, as he picked up the fallen tools, before cutting himself short, and beaming. “Oh my god! Liberty Belle! I am so terribly sorry, but so incredibly glad. You made it! What a dream!”

“What a wha-”

He stood, shaking the plaster dust off his hands and offering one. “Dr. Byron Hale! I’m your biggest fan! Huuugest! Oh, this night just keeps getting awesomer!”

She took his hand, standing awkwardly while he shook it enthusiastically in both of his, before noticing the familiar signatures in bright colors on his lab coat, the Polaroid of his ecstatic face held in a headlock by Tammé on his clipboard. Gently, she began to pull her hand away. “Oookaaaay… well, mine isn’t, so I’ll leave you to yours.”

“No, please, wait!” he cried, clasping it ever tighter. “Can I buy you coffee? A drink? Dinner slash breakfast? Anything! Please! Liberty Belle! Let me make it better. Please.”

She lowered her eyes and stared at him, at the Hulk Hogan mustache, the Technicolor-autographed lab coat with the sleeves rolled up, Miami-Vice style, the burgundy suede running shoes clashing eye-bleedingly with the washed-out aqua scrubs, finally halting on his bright, hopeful eyes. For a moment, she paused, hearing the silent plea they sent her, before she exhaled, something somewhere on the Venn diagram between a sigh, a scoff and a laugh.

“In your dreams, pal.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to middlemarch for the Mercy Street Advent challenge prompts!
> 
> The lines from the GLOW cast at the beginning and Mary-as-the-doctor are from episode 2 x 07 of GLOW, "Nothing Shattered". Not mine.


End file.
